


Same to You

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Friendship, High School AU, M/M, amputee eren, at some point i expect the rating to change, more tags as things become relevant, prosthesis!eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jeager is the new kid in Trost. A little loud, ambitious, a bit of a handful. Already Jean likes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a oneshot I did for [Viella-Art's](http://viella-art.tumblr.com/post/106278171488/just-some-random-doodles-for-an-au-where-eren-has) artwork featuring Eren with big dreams and a prosthetic leg. And Jean who I'm declaring to be World's Best Boyfriend. At least for Eren, anyway. :)
> 
> I'm hoping that in time there will be more to this little AU, and for now, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I have a [tumblr.](http://rhetoricfemme.tumblr.com/)

Confidence, a loud but not overrun mouth, and a hint of arrogance. These were the first things Jean had noticed about Eren Jeager, the new guy, who starting at a new school halfway through the semester, had no qualms with jumping in during the middle of the school week.

He’d have called it insanity; plunking down into the seat next to him on a Wednesday, when he had every excuse to hold off until next Monday. But then, Jean determined, there was something about Eren balancing kindness alongside that shit-eating grin. Of course he was the sort of guy to simply get right to it.

For some reason, Jean couldn’t help but like that. Reaching a hand across the aisle, he offered Eren a handshake.

_ _ _

The end of the week had found Jean where it typically did; ready for a few days off, and tired of overhearing random classmate bullshit. Halfway through his junior year, and the same voices still bantered to the same ears about who’d been caught cheating. The same scandalous whispers floated about, accompanied by obligatory stares directed toward whoever was nailing who, and speculating the reasons why some people might be walking just a little bit funny. Well, _that_ one had been new.

Alas. Like always, Jean counted himself disinterested and worked to drown them out.

Turning in his seat, Jean meant to implore on the new kid, only to find himself surprised as he followed the blatant focus of Eren’s eyes.

“Jaeger, are you checking out the teach’s ass?”

Eren gave a friendly scoff. If ever there were such a thing, there would be no one better than Jean able to identify it.

“So what?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be the most absurd thing you could learn about me.”

“Right, got it. Listen, how much have you been able to follow from this unit?”

“Enough. I’ve been following just fine since I’ve been here.”

“Yeah,” Jean’s voice drips with dry amusement. “I can see that.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, if you want, you can copy my notes.”

Eren’s eyes widened as the five-subject notebook landed on his desk, its pages crimped and dog-eared from consistent use.

“Wow. Thanks, dude.”

“Welcome.”

Jean gave a satisfied nod before returning his attention to the front of the class, admitting to no one other than himself that Eren had not been wrong in admiring Levi Ackerman from behind.

_ _ _

“ _Jean._ ” Voice muffled between his desk and a sweater sleeve, no emphasis had been lost in his plea.

“What.”

“I am not going to fail this test.”

“If by fail you mean pouting over a perfectly acceptable B, then great job, man.” He deadpanned while chewing on the tip of his eraser. “‘m proud of you.”

“Study with me?” It wouldn’t be the first time Eren had implored Jean for his academic services. He’d teased him for keeping such thorough notes, only to offer comparisons with his own a week later.

“When?”

“If you’re not doing anything tonight, then meet me outside the gym around five.”

“For not having any sports, Eren, you sure spend a lot of time in the school’s gym.”

“Yeah.” Eren did his best to seem nonchalant while feigning interest in the photos inside his textbook. “I just like strength training, is all.”

Nearly a month had passed since Eren’s move to Trost, wherein he’d managed to pick up a few friends and partial enemies, alike. It wasn’t that he was an unlikeable guy. Rather, he was an acquired taste. For Eren’s part, he simply had zero inclination to apologize for not being everyone’s cup of tea.

Jean liked that.

Taking advantage of Eren being distracted, Jean permitted himself a moment to glance his friend over, his eyes first trailing up, before slowly creeping down.

_Just like strength training, huh? I can tell._

“Is that fine, then?”

“Hm?”

“Five. Outside the gym? I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Oh, what? You’re going to sweat for an hour and a half so you can stuff your mouth with burgers?”

“Fine, assface. Starve.”

“Five o’clock is good.”

_ _ _

Nearly a month into what Jean assumes to be a growing friendship, and he cannot say one way or another whether Eren is all that punctual a person. What Jean does know, however, is that by 5:15 he’s done waiting for his tardy ass.

Heading toward the locker room, Jean decides Eren should have one final reprieve. After all, he’s no stranger to losing himself to his interests. He can remember a time in his own life when the feel of a ball between his feet, the spring of fresh cut grass beneath his cleats would keep him in the zone for hours.

A wave of heat and the generic smell of soap hit Jean in the face as he pulls the door to the locker room open. Glancing at the clock, he reasons that early practices must have recently cleared out. What he’s left with is a whole lot of silence and the steady plink of a dripping shower.

“Yo, Eren. You in here?”

His own footsteps echo back at him, leaving him otherwise unanswered. Jean waits a minute longer before giving up. Non-odorous air gusts toward him with the opening door, and he almost misses the faint call of his name from somewhere back inside.

“Eren?”

His voice is quiet and resigned as he directs Jean all the way to the back of the locker room, where he finds his friend seated near the corner. For a moment all Jean can do is stand there as his mind wipes blank, and his heart catches in his throat. Sitting on the bench is Eren; a crestfallen expression that appears so unfortunate and wrong across an otherwise glowing, hardworking and exhausted face.

Fingers knit into a painfully white-knuckled grip are outdone only by the hollowed pant leg slacking just below Eren’s left knee. He doesn’t mean to, but Jean swallows his surprise with an embarrassingly audible gulp.

“Eren?”

“I, um. Basketball was finishing up, but sometimes they just use the courts, not the weight room.” For Eren, raising his voice is a common occurrence. This time, Jean recognizes it coming not from a place of confidence, but some hard-fought brand of forced assurance.

“Dude, you don’t have to—“

“Anyway, I thought I was alone, right? And the rope climb with my prosthetic is a pain in the ass, so I took it off.” Eren loses significant volume as he quickly finishes his story. “When I got back to the ground my leg was gone.”

It’s all too much. The synchrony of question and discovery has made a veritable mess of Jean’s mind, all of which he now shoves aside. There’ll be time for that later. For now, he takes a seat on the bench, sliding himself close to Eren.

“C’mon, man.” He turns his back, tucking into a discreet crouch toward Eren.

“No.”

“What else are you doing to do?”

“Jean, no.”

“Jean, yes. C’mon Jeager. There’s a back door in the coach’s office and it leads straight out to the parking lot.”

“So?”

“So it’s almost 5:30, we’ve got studying and burgers to get to.”

The impatience in Jean’s tone is as authentic as the bold exterior Eren is still clinging to, and they both know it. Seconds roll by wherein neither one of them makes a sound, until Jean decides to press on.

“You said basketball practice got out a while ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. And there’s only a few guys I know who are supreme enough in their douchebaggery to pull something like this.”

“Keith Shadis?”

“That’s one of them. How’d you know?”

“He’s in my homeroom, dense as a Pacific fog, and has a loud mouth. And he thinks I’m a know-it-all.”

Jean nods, having no trouble at all in believing that Shadis is the most likely choice of offenders. He gives Eren a wiggle of his shoulder blades, any notion of playfulness dashed by the matter-of-fact in which he speaks.

“We can leave through the Coach Ackerman’s office, and you can sit in my car while I run back inside and find Shadis. Then, food.”

In the end, Eren is left with little choice in the matter. There’s a certain level of comfort in Jean’s straight-forward approach to this most ridiculous of bullshit situations, and decides that when the time is right, he’ll tell Jean whatever he wants to know. He quashes down the piece of himself hoping that Jean wants to know.

“And studying.”

“Right. And studying.”

Hesitant arms wrap just firm enough around surprisingly broad shoulders, and he wraps his good leg around Jean’s waist before there’s enough time to change his mind.

Jean hoists them off the bench and pretends not to hear Eren sigh. Cautious of where he rests his hands, careful not to stare too hard at the end of Eren’s knee, he directs them into Coach Ackerman’s office and toward the exit, where head-clearing winter air permeates the world outside.

Eren does not want it, but he allows it. Jean moves quickly, but without urgency. It crosses Eren’s mind that no one has taken the casual approach, before, and now here it is, handsomely presented in the form of Jean Kirschstein. He appreciates it all the more for actually believing him; for the fact that nothing about their situation feels pitiable or trite.

He is thankful for Jean’s willingness to help him study. Privately, Eren acknowledges the irony in the fact that as far as books go, he’s been set for quite some time. What Eren’s counting on now, however, is for Jean to help salve over his pride while he eradicates one of any number inevitable slumps life has put in his way.

Eren knows it’s foolish. Perhaps it’s even a little unfair. Right now, however, there is no small part of him willing to care.

If anyone had asked, he’d buried his face in Jean’s collar to avoid the obtrusive glint of fading sunlight across ice-slicked snow. The comforting warmth of his neck, the smell of laundry detergent, and the feel of nervous hands were all secondary to him.

It had nothing to do with needing him. It wasn’t as if Jean was turning out to be the friend he could never find back in Shiganshina. There was no stirring of emotion, or acknowledgment that maybe something in him had reawakened for the first time since—

“Jaeger, are you crying?”

_Well, fuck._

He recognizes Jean’s car, and is immediately thankful for its nearness. He prays for Jean to dump him in front of the little Pontiac onto his ass, and to rush back into the building. This would be a good time to create a little distance.

“No, I’m not.”

Jean sets him down gingerly in front of the passenger door, before handing his keys to Eren. The sun is at their back now, and Eren decides that he prefers the golden brown of Jean’s irises to the obnoxious blaze of late afternoon sun. The keys had found warmth in Jean’s pocket, but his fingertips are freezing.

“Don’t worry,” he promises. “I’ll get your leg back.”

Regardless of circumstances, it’s a fucking ridiculous thing to have to say. That Jean assures him without an iota of pity or snark before turning around, leaves Eren with very little to say. Robbed of all deadpan or sarcasm, Jean’s words have been stripped down to assurances and sincerity.

Shoving the key into the frozen lock, Eren mulls over where his mind is going with all of this, before being enveloped by the scent of Jean upon opening the car door. Sliding into the passenger seat, he sticks the key into the ignition and shuts his eyes, refusing to absorb the small, personal area surrounding him.

It’s quiet in the car. Despite the Pontiac’s age, it doesn’t take long for the tiny space to heat up, leaving Eren surrounded by warmth and a smell that is so completely Jean, that he can feel himself draped around the other boy’s shoulders all over again.

He succumbs, for now.

Laying back against the headrest, he feels the pleasant lull of sleep, and decides that for today, it’s enough.

It matters little whether he slips away for an hour or five minutes. Eren wakes refreshed to the sound of tapping against the window where his head lay, and smiles appreciatively when he sees Jean awkwardly holding not only the prosthetic limb, but his forgotten backpack.

Traces of a satisfied smirk play at the corners of Jean’s face, and Eren manages to hold back a laugh as Jean tries to keep himself in check. Within seconds Eren is wiped clean of his mirth, remembering that parents and doctors aside, he’s never allowed anyone to watch him tend to his leg.

_Well. First time for everything._

He takes a deep breath whilst pushing open the car door, and offers his thanks as the leg is handed to him. Jean takes his time crossing to the other side of the car, and manages to buckle himself in during the time that it takes Eren to reattach his leg.

By this point, the idea of pretending nothing significant has transpired leaves each of them feeling their fair share of awkward. From where Jean is sitting, there’s no point in allowing the mood to snowball into something worse.

He asks his question while pressing chapped fingers to fully blasted heater vents.

“So, you—-“

“I want to run.”

“You—want to run.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while, though. I’m building up to that.”

“Alright.” Jean nods, relieved for the realization that for Eren, running has nothing to do with the proverbial. He risks turning full on in Eren’s direction, during what has to be the most honest moments of his life. The gumption he’s come to recognize in emerald-hued flames has begun its return in his friend’s eyes, and for that, he smiles. They both smile.

“You want to run, then you’ll run.” He says. “Tonight, though. What do you need to do for this test?”

Pulling a notebook out of his backpack, Eren tells him to start driving in the direction of food.

He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Jean that studying isn’t his primary motivation in all of this. For now, though, it will have to do. He spouts off a few discrepancies between Ackerman’s discussions and what’s written in his notes, all the while watching as the warmth returns to Jean’s hands.

Eren can’t say why, but he stays content in knowing that if he’s patient, the right things will come his way. Obstacles have loomed tall and taunted him before, all of which are no longer there.

While it can’t all come down to fate, Eren believes it must be at least part of it. He knows better than most people that hard work is not—cannot—be everything. It certainly had not been the contributing force that kept him alive whilst once upon a time, he laid trapped and waiting for several hours.

Discipline and perseverance were not the reasons he ended up with a seat alongside Jean for two hours a day, five days a week.

But then, hard work, discipline and routine certainly aren’t bad things to have on one’s side, either.

As such, Eren decides to make the most of it. He figures between the aforementioned and his propensity to lean on fate, perhaps one day he’ll gain a running scholarship toward the University of Sina. Maybe someone will fulfill his wildest of fantasies and donate him one of those $75,000 dreams-come-true, just because they want to see _him_ wearing their company’s running blade.

And maybe, if he plays his cards right, in the future he’ll be the one helping to keep Jean’s hands safe from the cold.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eren teaches Jean the difference between a challenge and a setback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I thank you so very kindly for reading this. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. Well, yes I do. I'm having fun, is what this is. I've been having great fun writing this, and am thankful for [Viella-Art](http://viella-art.tumblr.com/) letting me write off her drawings, and for coming out to play. <3
> 
> Here you go, I hope you like it!

Jean wouldn’t call it an upset, exactly, as he frowns at his surroundings. Brows furrowed close together, he directs his gaze toward the tartan track beneath his feet, and tries to ignore the contrast between the cold air and the still rising sun.

In the sky calm shades of orange bleed into a bright pink, little more than a mockery as labored breath clouds in front of him. Sweat and heat drip off his skin, which has come to sting wherever it’s left exposed to the early April air.

It’s little trouble to keep his rhythm, even as he watches the body several paces in front of him practically glide with seemingly easy movements. Seemingly.

“Dude, when you told me it as going to take you a while to run again, I didn’t know you were thinking in terms of weeks.”

Still running, Eren offers a shrug while answering over his shoulder. “Couldn’t do anything on the team until the waiver cleared.”

Jean answers with a noncommittal grunt as he wonders whether Eren looks better wearing Trost’s or Shiganshina’s track uniform.

“The weight room was easy to get away with when barely anyone had known.”

The two of them fall into silence, Jean having since come to run alongside him.

Spring break had arrived, therein marking the near end of their third year of high school. More importantly, with it came the absence of the majority of their fellow juniors. While many of their classmates had no doubt turned in the direction of warm weather and fake orange tan spray, Jean and Eren had remained home to find the precarious balance between lazing about and physical training.

“It has taken a while.”

Jean hears the lilt in the words, and settles for landing a jab between Eren’s ribs before taking off in front of him. Within seconds Eren is outrunning him without looking any worse for wear.

“Come on, man! I’m fucking captain of the soccer team!”

“Yeah?” Jean feels his nerves rise as Eren turns to address him whilst running backward. “Well I would’ve been captain of the track team. Suck it!”

Three months have passed since Eren and his father’s relocation to Trost. Roughly two months have transpired since Eren’s become comfortable enough to begin crawling away from a long since closed shell.

Now, Jean lets him take the next burst forward, holding back to stare after him, instead. It’s not difficult to notice how Eren moves so easily. At least he does from where Jean’s standing.

He remembers the day Eren first asked him to run with him, making it clear that he was looking not for someone to watch out for him, but to give him a challenge. Jean had no doubt in his mind that he’d been fast in the days before the accident.

Admittedly, back then running had been nothing more than a talent to enhance his high school transcripts.

“And then,” Eren had said. And then…

Everything came apart. Everything changed.

And yet, only so much time could be allotted to wallowing. Eventually, there became a new way of looking at life, and a new way of running. Jean would never forget the way he’d smiled while telling that particular story.

“Challenge accepted.”

Eventually, Eren gains enough distance for Jean to notice the distinct turn of his head. He glances, after him, curious to implore whatever has caught Eren’s attention. There, just to the side of the track, sits the equipment shed with its door slightly jarred, and clearly unlocked.

Diverting his course, Jean makes for the shed. Eren follows close behind, watching carefully as Jean drags a hurdle from inside. He doesn’t make eye contact with Eren until after the thing has been secured onto the track. He stands alongside it, waiting for Eren’s assessment. In no time at all ten seconds has turned into twenty, and then thirty, before Jean begins to wonder if he’s gone too far.

“So, no?”

“I don’t know.” Contemplation plays across Eren’s face. “It’s not impossible, but isn’t really recommended on this model leg, either.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Jean shakes his head apologetically and moves away from the hurdle.

“Got it. ‘M sorry. Let’s just finish the run.”

“Not a problem, man. Just…” he looks from Jean to the hurdle, the right words eluding him, “Let’s get back to it.”

He’s off before Jean has time to respond, though it takes mere seconds for Jean to catch up. He studies Eren’s face for signs of upset, but comes up confused by whatever’s behind his straightforward gaze, instead.

Sighing, he resigns that for now, there is nothing to be done, and tries to let it go. It isn’t long before he’s found himself back in the zone, a full lap having nearly gone by, and nearly misses it when Eren zips in front of him and into the next lane.

“The fuck, Eren!”

The words are barely off his tongue, and he watches Eren pace himself accordingly before leaping over top of the hurdle.

Jean’s chest constricts with disbelief and excitement, rife with feelings that in the moment he cannot bother trying to describe, because Eren fucking did it.

Almost.

The transition from graceful to physical dismay is nearly too much for Jean as he watches Eren eat dirt. Panic shocks through his body, and blood pulsing at his temples drowns out the sound of laughter, as Eren swats his hand away. Jean tries to sputter out the obligatory question of whether or not Eren is okay, even after his friend’s good humor should be enough to tell him everything.

Within seconds Eren’s rolling up his track pants and mumbling about a cold draft while inspecting his prosthetic before reattaching the leg. Jean cannot help it, and expression betrays him, causing Eren to lock in on him and give a small shrug.

“Hurdles were never my event, anyway.”

He offers Eren a hand once more, only to have it gently pushed away. Jean makes quick work of throwing the hurdle back into the shed, muttering to himself about damn suicidal bastards all along the way.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eren gets by with a little help from his friend. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter! Thanks so much for reading, everybody. <3
> 
> I had to go back in and edit this from its initial post on Tumblr, and I'm very thankful that I did. I wasn't so thrilled with myself this afternoon, as I kind of threw this up onto the web before I really believed it was ready for it. Then I had to wait half a day to do anything about it. :\
> 
> But! I'm must happier with it now, and I hope you enjoy it to. If you're so inclined, please let me know if it feels off in any way to you. Or, you know, any other comments are appreciated, too. :)

It wasn’t completely under the guise of convenience that Eren stayed late during Jean’s soccer practices. They were friends, after all, and over time Jean had more or less become Eren’s official drive back and forth from school. That he was able to log some extra miles while watching Jean direct his team and kick around the ball was simply incentive to linger.

Sticking around was easily worth the cost of putting up with the occasional dirty look from obnoxious, always-belligerent fellow senior, Keith Shadis. Even the occasional off-color remark did little to influence what Eren would easily consider very good training days. With a mouth like his, Eren could never quite say whether or not he’d earned Shadis’ ire, but he was more or less inclined to say no.

At the end of the day, Shadis could only look toward himself in answer to the sloppy attempts at competing with someone who maintained invariably better grades than he did; someone had an overall better work ethic and attitude, to boot. That Eren was unabashed and occasionally clever with his comebacks merely served to rub his inferiority complex onto the wrong side of true disdain.

Months had passed since the day he’d taken off with Eren’s prosthetic leg. What has started as an attempt at humor had quickly deflated into a tension-filled moment capped off with an appearance from none other than Jean Kirschstein. Where he had been expecting an outburst or at least a mouthful of vapid insults, Keith had received what  could only be described as a harrowing silence. The malice lighting Jean’s eyes had spoken enough for the both of them, and prompted Keith to hand him the limb without a word.

The incident went unspoken of for the remainder of the school year, with Eren taking up rank with the track team soon after. It had become common knowledge since then that not only was the new kid missing a leg, but that it did nothing to quash his speed or determination to go through life doing things just that much better.

That enough time had passed with little more than snarky exchanges between the two, Jean had begun to believe that perhaps even Keith Shadis considered stealing Eren’s leg to be less than his finest moment.

The actuality, as Jean was about to learn, was that Shadis was about to outdo himself.

Standing center of the field, the boy kept rein on a soccer ball while watching Eren approach the finish of yet another lap around the track. Jean is too late in his realization, and watches as the ball goes airborne, heading straight for Eren. His mind flashes white with horror as the ball sends Eren to the ground, an audible crack easily heard as the ball connects with his left leg.

Any other time, and Shadis’ aim would have landed him accolades for precision. Now, he hunches in on himself, the consequences of his move already unfolding onto him.

Watching Eren go down is significantly different from sneaking off with his leg, as in this instance he is privy to the instant look of panic that shoots across his target’s face. He hears the wind knocked from Eren’s body as one leg rushes out from under him and his back thuds to the ground.

Shadis is left with no time to absorb the scene before he’s being grabbed, can feel the fabric of his shirt as it bunches inside one fist while his face connects with another. He doesn’t need the faculty of thought to know that it’s Jean straddling him now, staining Keith’s shoulders and Jean’s knees with the green of the lawn while spitting obscenities into his face.

Save for the initial blow and being pinned to the ground, he’d all but stopped being concerned for physical safety, as Kirschstein seemed more concerned with proving his bark could be as bad as his bite. Their confrontation seemingly appeared mild enough that watching from the corner of his eye, Keith could see as the coach took his time in approaching the fray.

At this point, he's reached the end of his patience. Despite knowing that this time truly merits Jean’s obnoxious retribution, he prepares to shove the captain of the soccer team off his chest, when a shoe flies toward both of them, effectively removing Jean for from his lap, anyway.

“’ _The fuck, Eren?!_ ”

Jean is out of breath, panting, and in the distance hears Eren order him, his voice betraying what sounds too close to anger.

“Enough, Jean! I said stop!”

Climbing off of him, Jean does not bother to give Keith another glance, and instead beings trekking Eren’s way.

It’s a long walk over to where Eren lays stretched on the track, his upset gaze concentrated singularly toward Jean.

“I don’t need this.” He growls beneath newly regained breath, then gestures half-heartedly toward the perpetrator. “Just stop.”

Jean tosses him the shoe, before toeing at the prosthetic limb. The ankle is bent slightly in the wrong direction, he notices, and he turns to better examine Eren. The miserable aura emanating off of him is enough to quell the upcoming wave of anger that Jean now finds necessary to hold inside.

“If you want to help, then just stand there. Fuckface over there broke it.”

Swallowing hard, Jean nods, standing still long enough for Eren to fiddle with the limb before deciding to fasten it on. Heaving himself upward, Eren is on his feet before Jean can protest his choice, or question him further.

“I’ll have to take it in to get fixed, anyway.” He mumbles, “Can you just—“

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

The walk to Jean’s car takes longer than either of them would like, and leaves Jean feeling far too anxious for Eren’s well-being. Time and experience, however, have taught him that in such instances, it is far better to let Eren try and do things his way. He’s no stranger to sorting out physically awkward situations, and could care less if people find reason to stare.

Jean, on the other hand, is too busy remembering previous instances of finding Eren on his ass and ultimately shrugging off, and in the best of times laughing at his situation. There is no comparing those occasions to the present, wherein someone as insignificant as Keith Shadis has managed to bring the epicenter of Eren’s world back to the limits imposed by relying on a prosthetic leg.

Together they throw their belongings into the back seat, and make the ride to Eren's home in silence.

Standing to the side while Eren absorbs one jab or another is nothing new. Not only can Eren take care of himself, Jean understands, but he even notices a certain grace in the way Eren chooses which obstacles to combat and which to let roll off his shoulders. Jean admires him for that.

Since the beginning, Jean has been a gift to Eren in that to him, Eren is any other kid. The paradox hits him hard in knowing that at the crux of things, Eren will never be just another person. For Jean, that Eren is missing a leg is the absolute least of it.

Pulling up to the curb beside Eren’s building, Jean looks toward his passenger, who now sits with pursed lips and hands tucked between his legs. Between the two of them is an insurmountable tension, and for the first time Jean does not bother to cut the engine.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eren’s voice is a ghost of itself, but the words are out too fast for him to change course or do anything about it. The dismal mood has surpassed any damage incurred from Shadis, but Eren would be remiss not to address other matters that now plague his mind.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jean mutters.

“No.” He insists. “That’s not fair. Why've you started acting this way?”

“Gonna have to elaborate on that, Eren.”

It’s his first time fully realizing exactly how solid a fixture Jean has become in his life. The fact that day in and day out, he has invested as much energy into this friendship as he has anything else that actually matters. The tip of his tongue burns hot with the one word he refuses to associate himself with, and it is a struggle merely to say it.

“I’m not your dependent.”

It’s a point of tension that despite Jean agreeing with, cannot so easily answer with a phrase as simple as,  _I know_. The events of their afternoon prove as much, and he’s not about to insult Eren’s intelligence on top of everything else that has transpired.

“Keith is a dick." Eren starts. "Everyone knows that. You didn’t need to—“

“Oh, shut up, Jaeger.”

It’s not the response Eren is expecting, and as such he closes his mouth obediently.

“I didn’t do it because of your leg, alright? You  _know_  I don’t see that. You’re missing a leg, man, but  _you’re a fucking force of nature_. And who cares about what anyone else thinks?”

“Then why is it lately you’ve been hovering like a freakin’ helicopter?”

“Because I don’t know?”

It’s a conversation that has been replayed and edited in Jean’s mind time and again. Unfortunately, neither his car nor the circumstances are the venue Jean would have chosen for such a discussion, and he is now left debating whether to throw together some verbal bullshit, or to go ahead and have his say.

“Because it’s human nature to look out for your friends? Because that piece of shit hurt and humiliated someone I  _really_  care about. Because I like you  _so much more_  than I ever thought I could. I don’t fucking care, man, take your pick.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

 “Alright. Um.”

“Don’t worry about it, Eren.”

“I’m not worried about it.” His tone is even, but Eren's words all but fall out of his mouth. “But my dad’s getting home early tonight. So I’m going to go make dinner or something. Make something good for a change so he doesn’t totally freak out about the leg.”

“Alright.” This is awkward. He wants to be of help, but clutches at the steering wheel knowing there is no real way for him to be. “I’ll just see you later, then.”

Eren grunts in confirmation before swinging open the car door. Jean watches Eren put weight onto his left foot, testing that his prosthesis moves accordingly before going on his way. His eyes keep after the still proud, if slightly slowed down version of Eren.

Steering back into traffic, Jean glances back from the corner of his eye. He cannot help but think that despite whatever Eren might believe, in this friendship, he'll never be the one to be left behind.


End file.
